


Therianthropy

by Lo_DuClavier (lo_sequence)



Category: Fringe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-02-07
Updated: 2010-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-07 02:12:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lo_sequence/pseuds/Lo_DuClavier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A remix of 'Monster Works' by FaustAutumn</p>
    </blockquote>





	Therianthropy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [for Scio!](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=for+Scio%21).



> A remix of 'Monster Works' by FaustAutumn

Astrid Farnworth's head rests on his shoulder, her breathing starting to slow as her satiation overwhelms her whole body. Walter Bishop's purring is low, mostly a rumble and his tail is wrapped around her buttocks, the tip lazily stroking her thigh. She can tell he's enjoyed their late morning interlude and she has, too.  
Astrid Farnsworth is a human and Walter Bishop is not.

Here on this extremely musty bed, constructed of two twin mattresses put together to form a king, they lay together and listen to birds chirping outside. There is no glass in the windowpanes, so fresh air filters through the room and Astrid pulls the grey bed sheet over their bare bodies, though their feet are still exposed. She looks up at him and he down at her, his scratchy cat-like tongue darting out to lick the tip of her nose.

She laughs sleepily and feels stupid for being so excited that she didn't get any sleep last night because today was the day Walter and Peter would wake up; now she's left exhausted and there's still so much cleaning to do. Walter of course offers to cook her pancakes, and she laughs again, knowing that secretly he likes watching her sleep, mostly because he didn't exactly do it himself.

In the glassless windows hang long strands of twine that have twigs and dried flowers, feathers and assorted buttons attached to them like a curtain of natural wind chimes, though they made no noise. Walter collects things he likes and that interest him and she is one of them, just another thing he likes and is interested in. Thankfully, he has yet to tie her up with string.

The older 'not human' is possessive of her and she isn't sure if it's his natural instincts or just his personality, but she likes being wanted the way he wants her.

It always starts the same. Once they are alone, he pushes her against the wall at the base of the staircase, pressing his face into her neck to breathe in her already hot skin. He'd flare his sterling grey wings out behind him and from what she's learned about his kind over the past few years, it's the equivalent of the male peacock's impressive display towards a female. She trails her hands over his chest, her fingers exploring the soft wispy curls of his chest hair as they start to kiss.

He whispers D.H. Lawrence and Walt Whitman to her, lacing the words with growls and purrs from his second set of vocal cords and she cries out as he tugs a little too hard on her kiss-swollen bottom lip with his teeth. At this point, he starts apologising as he leads her up the stairs.

The bed, constructed of the two twin mattresses she bought three years ago at the local goodwill, has been unwrapped from it's plastic and has been dressed in bed sheets that have been stored in a space bag over the months the Bishops were asleep. Astrid thinks it's very romantic that he always gets the bed ready for their use before doing almost anything else. She peels off her clothes, watching him remove the pyjama bottoms he's still wearing There's never any debate on who's going to be on top or not, so she always finds herself on her back on the extra firm mattress (not the medium); she figures it has to do with the easiest position for his restless wings.

The skin around his horns is sensitive, much like the nail bed of her thumb. The pressure from her fingertips cause him to shiver and he surrounds them with his wings. His jaw is strong enough to crush animal skulls (something she disapproves of) but when he nips at her clavicle, his fangs rarely ever break her skin. She whispers fond words to him as she touches the entirety of his body. Of course there's the expected foreplay of admiring the scars he'd received during Mad Season and while hunting years ago, as well as commenting how large his wings are and thankfully she wants him so much that she manages to keep her face straight; she isn't exactly used to playing the woman singing the praises of her consort's masculinity, but it all fairness everyone has their own kink.

She likes what he is. She likes how he says she smells sexy or she looks healthy, such unusual things to tell someone but she likes it. He says he likes the faces she makes, her animal growls and human mewls, the way her shortly trimmed nails claw at his upper shoulders, careful to avoid his wings. She tells him that she likes how his eyes seem to glow in the dark, that he isn't a selfish lover, the fact that she can see the tips of his horns poking through his graying curls.

They both finish rather loudly, grunting and screams, along with sweaty skin and scratch marks. He rolls off her and she cuddles up to him, giving a satisfied moan as they find their place with one another.

She knows that Peter's all too aware of what's going on—their kind can sense things far beyond the reach of humans, which means his highly evolved senses have picked up the scent of their pheromones. Of course the younger Bishop is far too polite (and embarrassed) to ever acknowledge the matter. At the moment he's driving to town to buy supplies to fix up the 'haunted' house they occupy.

Walter kisses her forehead and whispers, "Peter will give us some time alone. Just rest. I'll keep watch."


End file.
